


Spring's Bloom

by KottonKat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Auror Harry Potter, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Food, Friends to Lovers, Gardens & Gardening, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plants, Romance, Severus Snape Lives, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KottonKat/pseuds/KottonKat
Summary: Ten years ago Severus Snape left wizarding Britain to settle overseas.Harry had never hoped to see the man again, until one day he walks into the Leakey Cauldron and suddenly Harry's life is turned upside down. As they spend more and more time together Harry begins to see there is more to existence than giving himself up for the greater good.And Severus? Well, he just wants that foolish boy to realize that it is alright to be selfish, at least sometimes.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 7
Kudos: 70





	Spring's Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Guys with everything going on all I want to do is write warm, gooey fluff. So here, have some slow build fluffy goodness.
> 
> Stay safe everyone!

Harry sighs and sticks another bite of pot pie into his mouth, fingers tapping against the table as he stares down at the open file in front of him. By god, does he hate paperwork. The reams of it that come up after a case are the bane of his existence.

There’s a ton of it this time too, his last case a lengthy one that had required the combined forces of more than one department. Being the senior auror in change meant he was stuck with the brunt of it, and at this rate he was going to be up all night yet again, wading through it.

He lifts his head and catches Angelina's eye, motioning for her to bring him another cup of coffee. It’s already quite late in the evening, but he’s tired as hell from the last few days of actually solving the case, and is going to need all of the caffeine he can get.

Behind him the bell above the Leakey’s door jingles, but Harry doesn't bother looking up. Angelina comes ‘round and refills his mug, and he grunts a thanks at her without looking up from his papers. He curses himself for being the one to jump on this case in the first place, it had been meant to be Robinson's, but the fool had gone and gotten himself cursed by his slighted girlfriend and had wound up in St. Mungo’s, unable to take it on.

Harry hopes the curse hurt like hell, the cheating brute.

He reaches out and grabs for his coffee, downing half of it in one go, then pauses when a shiver wracks its way up his spine. Somebody is standing behind him, close enough he can feel their magic brushing up against his own. It’s familiar, but he can’t quite place where he has felt it before.

He turns slowly, wand hand twitching in anticipation of a fight.

The moment he turns fully around however, his hand freezes. He can feel his eyes blow wide in shock and his voice catches in his throat because _Severus bloody Snape_ is standing there with his arms crossed and his eyebrow raised, watching Harry with a bored expression plastered across his face.

“Potter,” he drawls, the corner of his lip twitching just the slightest. “How strange to see you doing any semblance of work.”

“Uh,” Harry blinks rapidly, not trusting his vision and thinking perhaps he may be having a caffeine induced hallucination. “What... what are you doing here?”

“Oh my,” Snape hums, “eloquent as always, aren’t we Potter?”

He takes a few steps, rounding the table and forcing Harry to turn in his seat. “And what do you imagine one does in a pub at suppertime?”

“No!” Harry sputters, feeling way off kilter. “I mean... I mean here, in England.”

It has been nearly ten years since Harry has last seen Snape, standing outside the ministry a free man after his trial, the one Harry had fought tooth and nail to have come out favorably. The man had disappeared shortly after, leaving to go overseas somewhere and providing no one with his location.

Harry had never hoped to see him again, and his presence here and now is enough to send him reeling because there stands Snape, looking for all the world like he’d never even left at all. He realizes hysterically that he is way to tired for this and slumps a bit in his chair, shaking his head.

“Ugh, I’m sorry, I’m just... surprised.” He gives himself a shake, because he is not a fumbling teenager anymore. For gods sake he is a senior Auror who heads an entire department.

“Let’s start over.” He musters up a smile and pins it on the other man, ignoring the nerves that flutter in his stomach. “Hi professor, it’s great to see you.”

Snape snorts and rolls his eyes but his mouth twitches once again. “I am neither _a_ professor nor _your_ professor any longer. Severus will do.”

“Oh,” Harry blinks, and for a moment the world tilts sideways.

If there is anyone in existence capable of throwing him off balance, Severus Snape is sure to be it. He’s starting to wonder if the man’s purpose in life is simply to make him wrong footed. It would certainly align perfectly with the circus that is his existence.

“Oh indeed.”

Snape, _Severus,_ he corrects, is watching him with those dark perceptive eyes of his, and Harry feels terribly exposed sitting there in his worn auror robes with his stacks of paperwork strewn across the table.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, because he’s a mess right now and he knows it. “It’s been a long day, week, whatever.” He laughs, and it sounds strangled to his ears. “Did you want to sit?”

Snape’s dark eyes are still watching him, but with Harry’s question he breaks contact and shakes his head.

“Not tonight. I am here to pick up dinner and be on my way.”

“Oh,” Harry blinks, some small part of him feeling disappointed. “Well have a good evening, then.”

Snape inclines his head and turns to make for the counter, but pauses a few feet in and looks back over his shoulder. For a brief moment Harry thinks he sees a flash of hesitation cross the mans face, but it’s gone almost instantly, and he puts it down to a trick of the light.

“I would be amenable to perhaps meeting for tea sometime.”

The words shoo his disappointment away and Harry finds himself unable to stop the smile that blooms on his face.

“Really? I’m pretty busy during the day, but maybe some evening this week?” There is a hopefulness to his words that cause a flush of embarrassment to warm him, but it’s much to late to keep the eagerness out of his tone. “Or whenever you’re free, I can make time.”

He can’t, not really, but will if he has to.

“Evening will work. I will owl you details later.” Snape pauses and looks Harry up and down again with those damn searching eyes of his. “Oh, and Harry, lay off the coffee.”

Then he’s gone, striding up to the counter to pick up his dinner and slipping out the door as quietly as he had come in.

Harry slumps even further into his chair once the door closes behind him, gripped by the urge to laugh. Merlin, but wasn’t that a shock.

He realizes a moment later that he hadn’t managed to get the reason for Snape’s return to England out of the man and can do nothing but shake his head.

Damn Slytherins.

\- - -

Harry’s alarm goes off at five in the morning, a dreadfully early hour, but he needs to be in the office by no later than seven. He sits up and blinks, groping for both his glasses and his wand on the bedside table.

He casts a wordless charm and the side lamp flicks on, casting the room in dim light. Reams of papers are strewn across his bed and he groans and rubs at his eyes, hating the sight of them.

He has no idea when he had finally fallen asleep last night, but based on how ragged he feels it was likely pretty late. A curse dances on the tip of his tongue and he is tempted to just blast the mess into oblivion.

There is no point though because Kingsley will just make him redo it, probably in duplicate.

Hauling himself out of bed is a chore, and he winces when his lower back pulls sharply. It’s been giving him trouble for months now, ever since the incident that had ended with him taking an unplanned tumble off of his broom.

Bloody junior aurors and their inability to follow directions, imbeciles, the lot of them.

He makes his way through his morning routine half awake, showering, then downing a pain potion for his back. The kitchen is his next stop and he sets to brewing a strong pot of coffee that he drinks half of while staring blankly out of his kitchen window, down to his sad garden below.

God, the yard is a mess. He should really do something about that this year.

He laughs at himself humorlessly, because it’s not likely to happen.

Work goes as it always does, long, stressful and a test of his dwindling patience. There are no new active cases for him to jump in on, so he spends the day doing even more paperwork and berating his subordinates for not doing their own.

There is an anxiousness squirming around in his belly that he only realizes come midday is because he cannot stop thinking about Severus Snape. He has yet to hear from the man, a part of him terrified that he won’t, which is foolish because it hasn’t even been a day and the man is probably busy. Snape is likely tied up doing other things, not waiting around to write Harry a letter.

He growls at himself and decides he needs to get out of this damn office, it’s nearly noon anyway and he had skipped breakfast that morning. A trip to the canteen is in order, a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee might be just the thing to take the edge off.

Twenty minutes later he is still twitchy as hell, drumming his fingers against the desk and thinking long and hard about his and Snape’s encounter last night.

But damn, the man had looked good. He’d been much to busy floundering in shock to have noticed then, but now as he replays the scene over in his mind it becomes apparent. Post war life had been good to him, or so it seemed, because there had been a lack of tension in his posture and a glow to his face that Harry had never seen before.

By Merlin, he really needed a decent nights sleep before he went and got to mushy over the man, this fumbling was getting ridiculous.

As luck would have it Harry gets out of the office a bit early that day. A surprise visit from Kingsley making rounds of the department has him staring at Harry’s bedraggled state with a shake of his head and giving him permission to duck out an hour before he usually does

“Still need that casework on my desk by tomorrow morning though,” he says, and Harry sighs but assures him that it will be there.

He picks his way home slowly, choosing to walk instead of apperate in hopes the fresh air will wake him up a bit. It is early April and the snow is finally gone, the days brisk and overcast with the promise of nicer weather looming ever closer.

Harry thinks again about his poorly garden, overgrown and in desperate need of a bit of love. He wishes he could find the time to deal with it, imagining rows of colorful flowers and bundles of fragrant herbs. The garden itself had been a large part of the reason Harry had bought the little house to begin with, enchanted by the idea of creating a beautiful outside space to relax in.

But five years on and he hasn’t touched it, his work load increasing shortly after purchase, leaving him with precious little time to do anything else.

He sighs and an old tinge of regret lances through him.

It’s not that he doesn't like being an auror, there are moments that make it completely worth it. But as the years go on he feels more and more exhausted chasing criminals and trying to stay one step ahead of the worst of society.

Some days he wonders what life would be like if he had chosen a different route. If he had chosen to try different options after the war, instead of jumping into auror training with both hands tied behind his back. He forces these thoughts from his head, because it is much to late to dwell on them. He’ll be thirty in just a few months time, too old to be considering a career change.

His home looms into view and he purposefully doesn’t look at the front garden as he goes down the walkway, keeping his eyes fixed on the door and wondering if he will be able to get the rest of his work done by a decent hour so he can get a bit of sleep.

He makes his way inside, stripping out of his robes as he heads toward the kitchen and letting them stay where they land. There is another clean set in his closet, he can wash these ones later along with the rest of the laundry strewn about his house.

In the kitchen he stands and stares at the coffee maker, Snape’s words ringing in his head.

Lay off the coffee he’d said, and Harry’s fingers twitch as he contemplates ignoring them because Harry is an adult and can drink as much coffee as he damn well pleases.

Only... he’s compelled to listen for reasons he does not want to look to closely at, dark, disappointed eyes boring a hole into his imagination.

He shakes his head, trying to clear the strange thoughts away and moves to grab a glass from the cupboard. A bit of water will likely go a long way towards shaking him out of whatever odd mood has fallen over him, he’s probably a bit dehydrated, anyway.

An hour and a second glass of water later find him sitting at the kitchen table working through the tail end of his paperwork. He is eager to finish it so he can drop it on Kingsley’s desk and walk away without looking back, give the man his turn to deal with this crap.

Halfway through an incident report detailing one of Gray’s muck-ups mid case, Harry is roused by the tap of an owl at his window.

He freezes and something in his stomach jumps, and he is up and out of his chair without consciously thinking about it. His reaction is stupid and he knows it, he should not be so eager to hear from Snape, they weren't even friends, barely acquaintances really. Because while they had gotten to know each other a bit during the course of his trial, the other man had certainly made no attempt to be friendly towards him.

Which is why Harry can’t understand his own reaction. Yes, he had thought of the man often over the years, wondering where he was and if he had found any peace, but he had never thought to seek him out. He had respected Snape’s choice to leave, understood it even, and had made himself content simply knowing he was out there somewhere, alive and free.

But all of that had changed the other night, and now Harry found himself with the burning desire to see the man again, to hear his voice and watch those dark, expressive eyes.

Fuck, he might be a mote screwed.

The sun is just beginning to dip in the sky when Harry opens the window, half expecting to see Ron and Hermoine’s owl, Blue, sitting there instead of the massive, cream barn owl that greets him.

It hops a bit in place, sticking its leg out impatiently and watching him with black, unimpressed eyes.

Harry takes the letter from its leg, unable to stop the smile that curls on his face when he recognizes the willowy handwriting.

He offers the owl a treat from the bowl on the windowsill and the creature snatches it up and takes off without another glace, causing a laugh to bubble in Harry’s throat.

It is just like Snape to own an owl with an attitude.

He plops back into his chair and carefully unwinds the bit of string holding the letter closed, eyes eagerly scanning the thick bit of parchment in his hands.

True to his word, it’s a request to meet for evening tea on Friday.

Harry writes back immediately, accepting.

Friday is the perfect day to meet, so long as he doesn't have a case come up in the next couple of days. He has Saturday off this week, which means he won’t have to worry about piles of work distracting him that evening, he can do whatever work he has the next day.

He calls his owl in the moment he is finished penning his response, and watches from the open kitchen window as she takes off into the growing twilight, feeling excited for something for the first time in ages.

\- - -

The next two days drag on, a slow, monotonous grind that leave him feeling bored and restless.

Being an auror is incredibility dull when there is no case or fieldwork to do, and as a senior it is no longer his job to go out on general patrols, which means Harry spends his time either in his office or trapped in meetings that always last longer then they are supposed to.

But sure enough Friday afternoon finally rolls around and he finds himself in a fairly decent mood, for once happily rushing to get his work done so he can get ready to meet with Snape. He is still not entirely certain where they are going to have tea, the man had simply told Harry to meet him outside of Flourish and Blotts at six, and nothing more.

The details however, are of little matter, because Harry is just happy for the chance to see him again. He is buzzing with questions he wants to ask, with things he wants to say, and an almost desperate need to simply make sure the man is okay.

After work Harry digs around in his bedroom for his least worn pair of jeans, opting for something casual because it’s _just_ tea. Surely if they were going somewhere fancy Snape would have warned him, more then aware of Harry’s lack of, well... elegance.

He pulls on his best grey jumper, a gift from Neville and Hannah the Christmas previous, and tries his best to flatten down his unruly hair. It is in desperate need of a trim, but he hasn’t had the time, so it will simply have to do as it is.

He pulls away from the mirror, not wanting to stare at his face for any longer then necessary. There are deep bags beneath his eyes that never seem to go away, and a smattering of crows feet that have popped up the last few years. He thinks about casting a glamor, but dismisses the idea just as quickly because vanity is not something he’s ever bothered with before.

Snape likely won’t care, anyway.

At ten to six he leaves the house, pulling the front door closed behind him and bracing against the evening chill. He takes a deep breath and lets it sit in his lungs for a moment, trying to quell the nervous flutter in his chest.

It’s ridiculous how worked up he is over meeting for a simple cup of tea. Merlin, it’s not like he is going off to try and court the man, he just wants to catch up, check in on him and be done with it. It doesn't matter that he sometimes thinks of dark hair and even darker eyes, or long elegant fingers reaching out to touch him.

Doesn't matter that he has been thinking of them for years.

So with a whoosh he releases his held breath and straightens, squaring his shoulders, and with a summoned bit of magic disappears in a pop of air. He will go, meet with Snape and enjoy this evening, take solace in seeing him alive and well, and maybe even find a way to forget about work for a few hours.

He lands in an alley just a few blocks from Flourish and Blotts and makes his way down the near empty street. It is rather chilly this evening and everyone seems to be indoors, rather than out. Harry stuffs his hands in his pockets and wishes he’d bothered to bring a set of gloves with him, hoping wherever they are going is not too far away.

Flourish and Blotts comes into view and both his heart and his pace quicken just a smidge because there is Snape, standing beneath a street light in the waning sunset. He is wrapped up in a long, dark coat that falls to his knees, a charcoal grey scarf wound snugly around his neck.

He looks up and nods at Harry, crooking a finger to beckon him closer.

Harry kicks his pace into a light jog, unable to keep a grin from tugging at the corners of his mouth as he stops just a few feet away from the taller man.

“Evening!” He says, feeling breathless. “I’m not late, am I?”

“No,” Severus drawls, looking Harry up and down. “For once in your life you are right on time.”

He takes a step closer and offers Harry his arm. “Come, let us be off.”

Harry blinks beneath his glasses and takes a step closer, his stomach squirming as he reaches out to wind his arm with Snape’s own. “Where are we going?” He asks, trying to ignore how close they are.

“You shall see.” Snape says no more, tugging Harry in closer and washing them both in his flow of magic.

They disapperate with a pop, the suddenness of if causing Harry’s stomach to jump. He slams his eyes closed and tightens his grip on the other mans arm, straining against the unexpected pull of their sudden apperation.

Seconds later Harry’s feet hit stable ground and he cracks his eyes open, and the sight before him causes his breath to catch. They’re standing on a gravel walkway that leads to a large, two story cottage, but it is the sight behind it that Harry finds mesmerizing.

Endless sky, burnt orange and red spread out for miles over the deep, churning sea. A cold, briny wind ruffles his hair and stirs the still dead grass of the clifftop in which they stand, while seagulls drift above on the air currents, squalling their mournful tune. Behind them, the cliff tapers off into dense forest, still thick and green with pine in the early spring.

Harry shifts, eyes wide and searching while still clutching Snape’s arm.

“Where...” he starts, shifting in place to drink in the sight.

“My home.” Snape’s voice is husky and wistful, a thread of pride pulling the words together. “Come,” he says, giving Harry’s arm a tug before releasing it.

He starts down the gravel path and Harry follows, still looking this way and that at the sight before him. A part of him cannot believe that he is standing here before Snape’s home, the surprise of it so unexpected he can find no words to say.

They make their way in silence and Harry fixes his gaze on the cottage they are headed towards. It is big, nearly twice the size of his own little home and the outside is made of light colored stone. Bare vines of ivy cling to its sides, and Harry can easily imagine them full and lush in but a few weeks time.

Off to the left a small barn sits, its bright read coat looking freshly done and Harry has the hysterical thought of Snape in overalls, chasing a moody cow about the yard.

The thought dispels some of the tension in him, and he quickens his steps to catch up to the man a few feet in front of him.

“When you asked to meet for tea I thought we’d be going to a pub or something.” Snape looks at Harry and lifts a shoulder, his eyes unreadable in the dying light.

“I prefer my home to public spaces.”

They make it to the door and Snape taps his wand against the handle. The door opens and he gestures Harry through into the mud room, where Harry follows the man in removing his footwear and hanging up his coat on a set of hooks.

Harry feels as though he has stepped into an alternate reality as he follows Snape into a big, open kitchen. It has to be the tiredness, he thinks, making him feel so strange, like he’s moving though a dream, because he cannot think of any other reason he feels so off balance.

“Potter.”  
  
Harry blinks and looks up. Snape is watching him with an eyebrow raised and his arms folded across his chest. He’s wearing a black button up with a grey cardigan on top, along with a pair of smartly fitting black trousers and Harry finds he has to swallow thickly against a lump in his throat.

“I asked if you would like to sit.” He points to a dark wooden chair pulled out from the matching table, and his eyebrow arches even higher when Harry fumbles forward toward the seat.

“Sorry!” He says, feeling small under that calculating gaze. “I’m not really with it tonight.”

Harry sits heavily in the chair as Snape simply lets out a single “hm,” in response then turns and busies himself over at the counter. He takes stock of the kitchen, ignoring the flush in his cheeks at being caught in la la land.

The kitchen is big and open, airy even, with white washed plaster and a big window over the sink. The counter is long and topped with dark stone, marble maybe, and a few potted plants sit here and there along with various appliances.

Behind him in in a corner sits a big, old wood stove sending off lovely waves of heat. There is a wooden rack suspended high above it, and dangling from sting various bundles of herbs dry in its warmth.

It is a lovely kitchen, warm and welcoming in a way Harry hadn’t expected. If he had ever been asked to picture Snape’s kitchen before he would have imagined something dark and stuffy, with bubbling cauldrons spread out everywhere.

But this... is nice. More than nice even, it was down right homey. There was even a muggle gas burning stove and a tall stainless steel fridge on the opposite wall, where a large entry way opened up into another room

How bizarre.

Snape is still at the counter preparing their tea, Harry watches him fill a steel kettle in the sink and then take it over to the stove, igniting the gas with a flick. He turns then and pins Harry with the kind of scrutinizing look he might give a particularly troublesome potion, his eyes looking him up and down.

“Have you eaten?” He asks, and when Harry mutters a sheepish no, his thin lips press together and a look Harry can’t quite decipher crosses over his face.

For a moment Harry feels like a student again with a failed potion sitting in front of him, and he fidgets in place and crosses his arms over his chest, feeling the need to defend himself.

“I mean, I did have lunch! I can eat when I get home.” As if to spite him though his stomach twists in hunger, and he glares down at it, feeling betrayed. A cup of coffee and a tea biscuit might not have been much, but at least it was something!

Snape clicks his tongue against his teeth and turns to the fridge, pulling out a sealed container of something that looks like soup, or maybe stew, and then sets to dishing it into a wooden bowl which he heats with a charm. Harry stares, baffled and embarrassed as Snape sets the meal in front of him. He’s about to protest when the smell of the food hits him and suddenly his mouth is watering.

By God, it smells amazing and without thought he plucks up the spoon and takes a bite, unable to hold in the soft groan that escapes him. Okay, so maybe he is starving and maybe he should have eaten more for lunch, but he has become so used to skipping meals in favor of work that he usually hardly notices.

It’s not his fault he’s always so god damned busy.

One bite quickly becomes two, and when Snape sighs and sets a plate of rolls next to Harry he snatches one up eagerly. He wants to laugh but decides against it with a full mouth, and does so internally instead.

Christ, he had come here hoping to have a spot of tea, catch up with Snape and find out how he had been the last ten years. Not sit at his kitchen table inhaling food like a starving man with barely more than ten words passed between them.

But whatever this is, is stupidly good. Thick with wild rice, chunks of chicken, fat bits of mushroom, carrots and something he thinks might be spinach. It is easily the best meal he has had in months, if not longer, usually just having a bit of takeout from the place down the street.

At some point Snape sets a mug of tea next to him and Harry pauses long enough to take a sip. Light, fragrant flavor explodes across his tongue and he finds himself groaning anew. He sets the mug down carefully and glances over at Snape who is leaning on the counter with his own mug, watching Harry with that unreadable look of his.

“Thank you,” he says, pouring as much sincerity into it as he can. “This is amazing. Seriously, the best thing I’ve had in forever.”

The man gives him another look that Harry thinks goes right over his head and takes a sip of his own tea, seeming to mull his words over.

“It is a simple stew,” he says finally, shifting a bit against the counter. “Nothing complicated.”

Harry tosses a grin his way and shrugs because while it might be simple, it’s still bloody delicious. “I’m usually to busy to cook, just do take out instead.” He huffs a bit and takes another bite. “That’s auror life, I guess.”

“Hm.” Snape takes another swallow of tea, watching Harry over the rim of his mug. “And you enjoy being an auror?”

Harry lifts his shoulder again, taking another bite while he considers his words. He likes being an auror, some days, like at the end of a case when the threat has been dealt with and the world is safe for a while yet again. Others though are more difficult. Not every case ends with success, and some end so brutally he spends days after lying awake at night, unable to sleep for the horror of them. But all in all he doesn't hate it, likes making a difference even if sometimes he wishes he could do so in a different way.

“It’s alright.” He says finally, uncertain how to express his complicated thoughts on the matter. “Wish I had more time for other things some days, but it is what it is.”

Snape makes another sound Harry doesn't know the meaning to while he finishes off the last of his stew. The man has always been an enigma, and time seems to have not changed that at all, although it certainly seems to have mellowed him a bit.

Harry wonders again where he has been for all of these years and why only now he had decided to return. He burns with so many questions that now with a full stomach and a clear head he can’t ignore them any longer.

“Why are you back?”

His words are blunt, but he figures it may be for the best. Snape has never been one to like another beating around the bush, and mellowed or not he is still Snape.

He sighs, a barely audible hiss of air, and once more catches Harry’s eye with his own. “I had never planned to be away forever. I always intended to return when I felt the time was right.”

Harry nods, finding he can understand the need to be away for awhile.

“So... where did you go?” This is the question he wants answered most, after years of wondering and worrying about him. So many times he had sat and stewed, hoping and praying that wherever Snape had wound up he was alright, as free of pain and torment as he could be with the sort of past he had.

Surprisingly, this question brings a hint of a smirk to his lips and once more his eyes turn just a bit wistful.

“Many places, I traveled extensively, but I spent most of my time in the States, California to be precise.”

Harry, halfway through another sip of tea can’t help but sputter, coughing against the liquid now going down the wrong pipe. Snape steps forward with a roll of his eyes and pounds Harry on the back swiftly, muttering something rude under his breath.

“Really Potter,” he grouses, gripping Harry’s shoulder and pulling him to sit up straight from his hunched over position. “Not a lick of eloquence in you at all, is there?”

Harry finds his coughing tapering into a laugh, and he gasps and tilts his head to look up at the other man. “Sorry, sorry! It’s just... California? Not somewhere I can picture you, like at all.”

Snape rolls his eyes again and takes a step back, and Harry instantly misses the warm hand on his back. “And where pray tell do you picture me?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Harry grins wolfishly and purses his lips in mock thought. “Somewhere a little more, I don’t know, serious, dark? Like Romania... or Russia, maybe?”

Snape harrumphs, and while his face pinches in exasperation there is still a hint of mirth to his eyes, and Harry finds he likes the look a lot, because it feels... almost playful.

“I’ll have you know there is an extensive magical community in California, not to mention it is also the home of the American Potions Guild!”

Harry laughs again. “Alright, fine, I get it. So you were over there brewing potions then?”

Snape nods, leaning against the counter once more. “Yes, of a sort. I was also doing research and visiting with peers I hadn’t the chance to before.”

A small, tight knot of sadness pulls at Harry’s gut.

Snape was a genius, a master of his profession and many others. To have been stuck teaching basic level potions at a school crammed with children for years on end, all the while waiting in the wing for either Dumbledore or Voldemort to make their move, must have been excruciating. As a man with his own mastered skill set Harry couldn't imagine being forced to teach disinterested pupils day in and day out, all the while having no one he could consider a peer around to talk to.

Merlin, Harry was batty enough just dealing with his subordinates, and they were all junior level aurors. No wonder Snape had taken off the moment he could to go and be with others of a similar mind.

Harry plucks up his mug and swallows the last dregs of tea to cover his grimace. Suddenly feeling terrible once again for how often he had added to Snape’s problems, squashing down the urge to apologize knowing it likely wouldn't be well received.

“Perhaps we should move into the sitting room,” Snape says suddenly, reaching to collect Harry’s empty dishes. “Unless you need to leave.”

Harry shakes his head. He has no where to be and nothing to do except yet more paperwork at home, and he finds the last thing he wants to do is leave the cozy house and the surprisingly pleasant company. “No, I can stay longer. Err... would you like me to do my dishes?”

Shape shoots him a look that roughly translates into a ‘no’ and with a flick of his wand the dishes are clean and neatly placing themselves back into the cupboard. He turns afterwards and makes for the entryway by the stove, gesturing for Harry to follow.

Harry trails after him into the sitting room, pausing a moment to take a look around.

“Oh wow, this is nice.”

It really is. Just like the kitchen the space is bright and open even with the sun nearly set outside. The walls are a lovely shade of sage green, and a set of nearly floor to ceiling windows with thick, dark brown drapes sit to the left. There is a fireplace with a mantel straight ahead, cluttered with knick-knacks and framed photos, and a stylish, brown, L shaped couch is placed strategically in front of it.

Bookcases made of the same dark wood as the kitchen table line the space between the window and the corner, and a plush looking cream rug spreads out from the center of the room. On the right a hallway sits, and Harry can see other doors off of it, along with what looks like the start of a staircase.

Near the fireplace an oval, woven basket catches his eye and as he takes a few steps closer he spies a set of tiny, grey ears poking up. He turns back to Snape, who is standing watching him with an amused look on his face, and casts a hopeful smile towards him.

“Go ahead.”

Harry closes the distance and crouches, peering down at the curled up form of a long haired grey and white cat. The creature must sense him, because it opens pale gold eyes and blinks sleepily up at him. He extends his fingers and the cat nudges forward to rub against them, then opens its tiny maw in a large yawn.

“He’s so cute,” Harry turns to grin at Snape who is folding himself down onto the couch. “What’s his name?”

“She,”Snape corrects, watching Harry watch the cat. “And her name is Eris.”

“Hullo Eris,” Harry wags his fingers at her, grinning as he listens to her purr.

He stands after a moment when the cat’s eyes close and she curls in tighter on herself, clearly ready to go back to sleep.

“I never took you for a cat person.” Harry says, making his way over to sit on the edge of the couch. “She sure is cute though.”

Snape makes a sound between a huff and a snort and sinks further into the back of the couch, one finger tapping against his knee.

“She showed up one day scrawny and matted. I made the mistake of feeding her.” He casts a thinly veiled look of ire over at the basket, but Harry can see the fondness layered beneath.

“Here in England?” Harry had thought Snape had only been back for a little while, but perhaps the man had been home for longer.

“No,” Snape sighs, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “Back in California. I tired to give her to a neighbor a few miles up the road but she kept coming back.”

Harry finds he has to stifle a laugh, the image of Snape standing with his arms crossed glaring down at the fluffy creature while she stared back, equally unimpressed, popping into his mind.

“So you kept her.” He leans back into the couch a bit more, enjoying the heat cast from the fireplace. This is nice, very much so, and with a full stomach he finds it would be ridiculously easy to just close his eyes and doze for a bit. “I’ve always wanted a pet, don’t have the time though.” He yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand. “Ron and Hermoine got the kids a puppy a few months ago, a little Jackie, I go and play with it sometimes.”

The couch shifts and Snape pulls himself closer to Harry, now only about a foot away. Harry watches him with eyelids that seem to be growing heavier by the moment, and he blinks rapidly and tries to clear them. Perhaps he should go home, the more relaxed he gets the more tired he seems to become, and Snape probably doesn't want Harry passing out on his couch.

But it is awfully warm here, and comfortable too, the crack of the fire like a lure drawing him in. It might not be so bad to close his eyes for just a moment, to rest long enough to get his bearings back and then be on his way.

Yes, he’ll rest, just for a little while, and then get up and drag himself home.

The last thing Harry registers before the darkness of sleep claims him is the feeling of his glasses being plucked from his face, and the shift of Snape beside him.


End file.
